Always There
by DoctorWhovian18
Summary: The Winchesters are always there for each other, we know that. But has that changed with the Mark of Cain? Tag to 10x19 'The Werther Project', because that episode needed a more angst-filled conclusion. No Slash.


**I am a naughty person. I have three ongoing stories which I really should be focussing on, and yet here I am writing one-shots. Oh well, inspiration strikes and I just can't resist. This episode needed more angst (doesn't every episode need more angst? We love angst). Fun fact about when I watched this episode: it was very late at night the first time I watched it and it was the last thing I did before going to sleep...It was only the next morning (after having a dream based on the episode) that I realised 'Rowena' was actually a hallucination. While watching it, and while going to sleep, I thought she was really there. But will I stop watching TV late? Nope. Anyway, enough about me, enjoy!**

The shock of Dean's slap had ushered in a new round of blood through Sam's veins, which accomplished two things.

First off, it had snapped him out of the blood-loss-induced haze that his mind had fallen into in the last thirty seconds, yanking him back to the reality that he had literally just been about to _die_. At the same moment, he registered that 'Rowena' was just another figment of the spell, encouraging his suicidal attempt. But the box still needed more blood. He tried to convey this to Dean, who told him off roughly – because that was how Dean acted when he was worried – and could only watch as his brother cut his own wrist and sated the sick contraption's bloodlust.

Secondly, it had only made a new load of blood ooze out of his wrist. Dazed once again, Sam looked around for a scrap of cloth...something, _anything_ that he could use to stop the bleeding. Now that he was thinking a bit more clearly, he realised what an idiot he'd been; what use would he be to Dean dead!?

Dean was two steps ahead of him, ripping off two bits of cloth from his sleeve and tying one around Sam's wrist, the other around his own.

"Can you get up?" Dean asked, making every single effort possible not to go into full panic mode at what had nearly happened.

 _Sam had nearly died!_

The thought screamed through his brain, tormenting him. While he was locked in some hallucination, Sam was bleeding out just because some asshole had wanted to make whatever the hell was in the safe untouchable.

Speaking of which, Dean had barely even looked at what was in the safe, just grabbing it and stuffing it in an inside pocket of his jacket. He registered it as a book, but pushed the curiosity as to _why_ Sam had wanted it that badly to the back of his mind.

Sam hadn't answered his question, so Dean looked over at him, sucking in a sharp breath before regaining his temporary control.

It was the Trials all over again. Sam's skin made vanilla ice-cream look dark as night. His cheeks had sagged inwards and veins stood out sharply on his arms and neck. He held pressure on his cloth-wrapped wrist, but Dean could see that the cloth was already soaked in red.

Turning his worry into annoyance in an attempt to get Sam responsive – the kid looked like he was going to pass out any second and that would _not_ be good – he said, "Dude, did you seriously have to cut so deep? I mean, why not just cut your whole hand off and be done with it?!"

A faint frown creased Sam's face. His eyes were coherent-ish, so Dean could at least draw some comfort that Sam knew where he was and what was going on.

"I had t' do it fas'." Sam mumbled; it seemed like an effort to get the words out straight. "You w'r gon' kill y'rself."

Dean gave him his best are-you-freaking-kidding-me face. "Oh, right, right, because that's so _not_ what you were doing."

"I w's _saving_ you." Sam adamantly replied, accompanied by what was clearly his best attempt at a bitchface.

Dean just shook his head, noticing that blood was now trickling down the side of Sammy's hand onto the floor. "Whatever. Let's at least get you out to the car, alright? I can bandage your wrist properly there. At least stop it bleeding, at any rate."

Sam nodded, allowing Dean to take his uninjured left arm in one hand and place the other under the right arm, yanking him up into a standing position.

And there they stayed for several seconds. Dean supported Sam's weight as it was instantly apparent that his moose of a brother had lost most, if not all, feeling in his legs.

"C'mon, Sammy, you gotta work with me here." Dean grunted from the effort of holding Sam up.

"M'tryin'." Sam muttered, and it seemed like he was.

After a couple of minutes of struggling, they ended up with Sam's left arm draped across Dean's shoulders so he took most of the weight, but Sam could at least place his feet flat on the floor and shuffle forwards.

It was a long walk up the stairs – because the box _had_ to be in a freaking basement – and out the front door – because the stupid house owner was rich, so that meant a big house – and across the front lawn to his beloved Baby.

It was dark now, not quite night yet but definitely getting there.

Dean awkwardly positioned Sam so that he could use one hand to open the passenger door, before easing his brother down onto the seat. There Sam stayed, leaning against the seat sideways, looking pretty out of it.

Gently, Dean patted Sam's cheeks, hoping he hadn't passed out as soon as he was down.

"Sam? Sammy?"

A mumbled groan met his ears. Good enough.

Dean went to the boot and got out the first aid kit. The gauze was at the top of the very well stocked box; they needed it often. He returned to Sam's side, finding that he had to shake Sam into awareness again.

"You keep doing that and I'll have no choice but to get you to a hospital." Dean warned. "And as soon as they see a deep cut on your wrist they're going to chuck you in the psych ward. Now, either you'd like to spend some time getting waited on by Nurse Ratched, or you can make a damn effort to stay awake."

His tone was annoyed, stern, but inside Dean's emotions were all over the place.

A large part of that was surprise. Surprise at how much compassion and empathy he was feeling towards Sam. At how easily his big brother instincts had kicked in, literally the second he had seen an on-the-brink-of-death Sam slumped against that damned box. True, the Mark didn't inhibit his unconditional love for his brother...yet...but it _had_ been inhibiting the usual, automatic ways Dean _showed_ that love.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd surprised Sam by making his favourite lunch, or playfully teased him for being a nerd, or any of the old things he used to do just to see a smile on his kid brother's face. Nor could he remember the last time he had even taken notice of Sam's health like he used to; paid attention for forty-eight hours to make sure he was eating, secretly monitored his sleeping patterns...nothing.

But today something had changed.

Perhaps, even subconsciously, he was fighting the Mark.

Returning his attention back to Sam, who had taken his advice to heart and was staring back at him, eyes not quite alert but definitely _there_. Dean knew his moment of thought hadn't gone unnoticed. He didn't know whether to be touched by Sam's concern, or annoyed that, as usual, Sam wasn't worrying about himself.

He sighed, gently taking the bloodsoaked cloth off Sam's wrist and replacing it with several layers of gauze. He was pleased to see that the blood, although not stopping completely, had begun to thicken and slow its steady course out of Sam's body.

"That should last you for a while, then we'll see if it needs stitches, alright?" Dean asked.

"Mmm-hmm."

The immediate worries alleviated, Dean took a deep breath...

...and suddely the seriousness of what had nearly happened hit him. Not like it had when he first saw Sam, all action before emotion. No, it _hit him_ hard, like he'd just been stabbed in the chest.

Of course, he was speaking literally because he knew exactly what that felt like.

He felt like he needed reassurance that Sam was there, with him. Not just the physical reassurance of seeing his brother's body, but mentally, emotionally. Was Sam there? Or was it just another hallucination?

"Dean?"

Sam must have noticed his breathing increase in pace.

"Dean, what's wrong? Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Dean forced out a weak chuckle. Of course Sam would presume that Dean's minor panic attack – which wasn't very minor, but he let Sam think that – would be to do with anything but himself.

"No, Sam, I..." _God_ , why was this so hard? His throat was even closing up.

Shocked, he realised that he hadn't cried since getting the Mark. The thought almost made him want to cry now, just to prove that he was still human, but he blinked back the tears.

Sam knew.

Dean knew that Sam knew...when a hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

A rush of relief. _That_ was the proof he needed.

He took another deep breath, before reaching up to return the gesture, squeezing a bit harder.

"Never," He growled, his voice unsteady. He cleared his throat and continued, looking up into Sam's too-big eyes, even bigger than normal with concern. Dean's heart constricted, but it was a warm feeling. He trusted that Sam would never give up on him, and if Sam would never give up then the best Dean could do was to not give up as well. They were the freaking Winchesters. They could survive anything.

"Never do that to me again."

 **I originally intended the whole thing to be from Sam's pov and for it to be hurt/comfort towards Sam completely, but then I switched to Dean's pov and...this happened. So, I really hope you liked it. Please let me know what you thought if you have a moment to spare. Bye ^_^**


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